We Hear You, And It Hurts

by Dar Wournell

I was 19 when I lost my vision. It happened in a single surgery. One day I had 20/20 sight. The next, I was blind.

It was January 10, 1995,  the day my neurosurgeon operated on a meningioma wrapped around my right optic nerve. We knew there were risks, but blindness wasn’t just a medical outcome. It was a social one.

When I returned to public high school months later, I stood outside the front doors holding my white cane. A boy’s voice came from behind me.

“What is she, retarded?” he asked someone nearby.

My blood boiled. I turned and said, “No, actually you are. I’m blind. This is a white cane. Do you need it?” He walked away without another word.

A few weeks later, it happened again. Another boy, another cruel question. This time, I didn’t respond with sarcasm. I smiled, told him to have a nice day, and turned away, but inside, I wanted to cry.

Because here’s the thing: blind people aren’t deaf. We hear what you say. And it hurts.

It wasn’t just in school. Years later, while fundraising for the Alliance for Equality of Blind Canadian's Halifax Chapter, I overheard one shopper say they wouldn’t buy our cookies, fudge, or chocolate braille cards because “you don’t know how clean they are or where their hands have been.”

What they didn’t know was that my mom, God bless her, made most of those treats herself, just to help us raise the money we needed to attend our national AGM. They also didn’t know that my house is clean, my clothes are clean, and I take care of myself just like anyone else.

That day, one man turned things around. We had one piece of old fashioned maple fudge left for one dollar. He bought it, then told us to keep it and see how much we could sell it for again. Over the next hour, the same piece of fudge was “bought” and returned over and over until it raised thirty dollars! He told me later that he’d overheard those hurtful comments and wanted to make it right.

It’s moments like these that remind me: people’s words can wound deeply, but they can also heal.

I share my story because I want people to think before they speak, to remember that the person you’re talking about might hear every word. And even if they don’t, the person you’re speaking to will remember what you said.

Kindness costs nothing, but its value is beyond measure.